The Shadows of Grace (Half-Orcs Book 4)

by David Dalglish

  “What about your parents?” he asked when her silence stretched so long he thought she might not continue.

  “Magic in elves is heavily based on bloodline, not trained like with humans,” Aurelia said with a sigh. “If either parent could cast spells, so could the child. We were never numerous, just enough to watch over nature and guide her growth. My parents were both casters, the strongest of our race. When we reached the Corinth Bridge, they demanded to stay behind along with eight others. We knew Baedan would have his troops follow us, no matter how far we fled. His entire army marched after us, ten thousand strong. Against those ten thousand, my parents made their stand.”

  “Ten against ten thousand?” Harruq said. “No matter how strong they were, they had to know…”

  “They did.” Aurelia said. “They knew. And they crushed more than two thousand soldiers before they fell, and slowed down their movements for days. It was enough for us to get away, to find our new home.” She sniffed. “They renamed it the Bloodbrick Bridge afterward. I wanted to stay, nearly demanded it, but they refused. I was one of the few remaining with the touch of magic. They thought it my duty to preserve it.”

  Harruq hugged her as she fell silent once more. Her breathing turned slow and heavy, and he knew she was struggling to hold back tears.

  “Their names?” he asked. “What were your parents’ names?”

  “Kindren Thyne was my father’s name,” she said. “And Aullienna was my mother’s.”

  At the sound of that name she broke, clutching at Harruq with a desperate strength as she sobbed. Harruq held her, tears in his own eyes.

  “It’s been a long year,” he said. “But we’ll make it, Aurry, we’ll make it.”

  “I miss our baby so much,” Aurelia said. “How she laughed, how she walked, how she, how she…”

  She couldn’t finish. Too many memories, so many of them good. The way little Aullienna cried, the way she crawled, the way she giggled every morning inside her crib, as if her entire world lit up at the sight of her mother. All lost. All stolen by a cold stream and Qurrah’s madness.

  “I miss her too,” Harruq said. “But we’ll be all right.”

  Deep inside, he hoped that was true.

  Tarlak muttered as he heard someone calling his name. Too early, he thought. Way too early.

  “Wake up. Six hours is more than enough sleep,” Dieredon said, nudging the mage with his bow.

  “For you maybe,” Tarlak grumbled, burying his face in a pillow. “What do you want?” he asked.

  “My scouts have returned from all corners of Neldar,” Dieredon said, jabbing Tarlak harder. The wizard looked up and glared with bloodshot eyes.

  “Fascinating,” he said. “Tell me later.”

  “Orcs march from Veldaren carrying the banner of Karak, but they do not chase after your refugees. There are several castles that might stand against them, if spurred into action. Both Kinamn and the Green Castle might prove powerful enough if warned in time. At worst, they must flee west with the rest of the Neldaren people.”

  Tarlak sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes with his forefingers.

  “What does this have to do with me?” he asked.

  “I am Scoutmaster of the Quellan elves,” Dieredon said. “It is my duty to contain the orcs at all cost. But I cannot be in two places at once. Lend me your Eschaton. We can sound the alarm, and perhaps strike down many of the orcs before they can reinforce from the Vile Wedge.”

  “What of my people?” Antonil asked, having been awake the entire time. Dieredon shrugged.

  “Neyvar Sinistel will give them food, blankets and means for shelter. It will take a day or two to prepare, but you are weeks of travel ahead of the war demons. They will be fine without the Eschaton.”

  “Much as I’d like to rest,” Tarlak said, “I find it hard to turn down a chance to get back at those who destroyed my home. When do we leave?”

  “Now,” Dieredon said. “Wake the others. I will escort you back to your camp, and then we will be off.”

  “Yes sir, boss elf, sir,” Tarlak said, offering a sleepy, off-balanced bow.

  Dieredon left with a sigh.

  As Tarlak prepared, Antonil stood and stretched, showing a bit of life that hadn’t been there the night before.

  “They will help us,” he said. “Praise Ashhur, they’ll help us.”

  “Try not to get too excited,” Tarlak said. “It’s just some food and blankets. They’re not going to war to protect us. They’re not offering escorts or troops.”

  “They’re offering aid,” Antonil said, strapping on his belt and sword. “For now, that is enough.”

  “I’ll go wake the others,” Tarlak said. “Let’s get the fun started!”

  Dieredon didn’t bother with the twisting, looping pathways out of the forest. Instead, he led them in a straight path that took them directly to their camp.

  “Ready your Eschaton,” he told them. “We leave in one hour.”

  At the sight of their return, people swarmed toward them. With a bit of help from Tarlak, Antonil levitated into the air and spoke with a magically-enhanced voice.

  “People of Neldar!” he shouted. “The elves will aid us! They will give us food and blankets as we travel west. We will not give up, and we will not surrender to the demons that give chase. Hold fast! Hope still lives!”

  All around, hope kindled, weak but growing.

  “Good speech, nice and short,” Tarlak said as he levitated Antonil back to the ground.

  “Never been one for long speeches,” the king said.

  The Eschaton and the Ash Guild met together shortly after, with Tarlak discussing Dieredon’s plan.

  “Let me make sure everyone understands this,” Deathmask said after Tarlak was done. “This elf wants to send us to where we just came from, to the Green Castle tucked between the Kingstrip and the Vile Wedge, hopelessly surrounded by enemies?”

  “Well, I’d prefer a bit cheerier spin on it than that, but yeah, that’s the idea,” Tarlak said.

  “We’re all exhausted,” Harruq said. “This really a good idea?”

  “If we can save more lives, we must,” Lathaar said. “I don’t see much of a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice,” Deathmask said. “Whether you wish there is or not. We put everyone here at risk if we leave. We are followed by winged armies. How fast might they reach us?”

  “Pretty risky leaving,” Mier said.

  “Risky indeed,” Nien said.

  “Well, then it is a good thing Dieredon invited just my Eschaton, and not the Ash Guild,” Tarlak said to the twins. “I figured I’d extend the offer on his behalf, but I should have known better.”

  “You’re right, you should,” Deathmask said. “But you have fun running off to die. We’ll be here doing your job protecting the people.”

  Deathmask, Veliana, and the twins left, so only the Eschaton and Antonil remained at their meeting.

  “Such a happy bunch,” Harruq muttered.

  “Forget them,” the king said. “Something weighs on my mind. I originally thought to follow the road northwest, straight to Kinamn. But with the supplies we’ve been given, I’m starting to wonder if that is our wisest path.”

  “Seems smart to me,” said Harruq. “It’s a big city, right? Should have plenty of soldiers and supplies. There should be plenty to join us as we head for Mordan.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Antonil. “I fear we’d lose more than we’d gain.”

  “Too many will stay,” Haern said, realizing what the king meant. “They’re tired, hungry and scared. They’d rather be within walls than continue on.”

  “Kinamn isn’t near as strong as Veldaren was,” Aurelia said. “It’ll fall. Anyone who stays is doomed.”

  “Which is why I think I will take my people directly west, toward the bridges,” said Antonil. “Bypassing Kinamn completely.”

  “That won’t be a popular decision,” Tarlak said, chuckling.

 
“I do what is best for my people, whether they agree or not. I am still their king.”

  “Then we must send someone else to Kinamn,” Harruq said. “We’ve got to warn them, get the people to leave before the demons arrive.”

  “We’ll handle it then,” said Tarlak. “Good luck on your travels, my liege. You’re going to need it.”

  Antonil shook his head and punched the wizard in the shoulder.

  “How will we travel after the orcs?” Haern asked as the king left. “By portal or by land?”

  “To be honest… I don’t know,” Tarlak said. “Guess we’ll leave that up to Dieredon.

  Turned out it was neither. Dieredon landed on the outskirts of the camp riding beautiful Sonowin, his winged-horse. A second landed with him, lacking a rider.

  “Aw, no,” Harruq said as Dieredon dismounted. “Come on! We’re gonna get tossed, I know it.”

  “Shut up,” Aurelia said, slipping her arms around his elbow. “It’ll be fun, trust me.”

  “You know how to make an entrance,” Tarlak said to Dieredon as a crowd gathered round. “But I see only two horses, and I’ve got six of us ready to go.”

  “Sonowin and Seleven can each handle three,” Dieredon said, patting his horse on the neck. “Any more and we will lose too much time.”

  The members of the Eschaton gathered, and the elf glanced about, trying to decide what to do since there were now seven.

  “I won’t go,” Mira said. She recognized the hard look he gave her. She’d seen it many times on the faces of the elves that visited her when guarding Elfspire. Dieredon knew what she was, and knew she was dangerous.

  “It might be better for you to guard the people here,” the elf said, glancing to Tarlak for confirmation.

  “Guess someone should keep an eye on Deathmask,” said the wizard, shrugging. That decided, the elf divided the remaining five by weight.

  “Tarlak and the paladin will go with me,” he said. “Aurelia, Haern and your husband travel with you.”

  Tarlak told him their plan of splitting into two groups, which Dieredon quickly approved.

  “My three will go to Kinamn,” he said. “You take Seleven and head to the Hillock to warn the Green Castle. Once you finish, we’ll be waiting for you.”

  “So be it,” Tarlak said. He looked at Sonowin, who nodded and snorted at him. “How do I get on?”

  “Carefully,” was Dieredon’s reply.

  He gave Aurelia the reins to Seleven, since the horse could understood commands given in elvish. Given the weight of the three, Harruq didn’t think it possible for them to fly. When Seleven’s giant wings stretched out, pushing them into the air with enormous strength, he thought differently. He clutched Aurelia’s waist and held on for dear life as behind him Haern grabbed his arms and grinned.

  “I’ve always wanted to ride one of these,” Haern shouted into Harruq’s ear as they soared higher. Harruq just rolled his eyes as he shivered in the chill air.

  “That’s because you’re insane,” he shouted back.

  “He’s not insane,” Aurelia said, hearing their exchange. “I can show you insane.”

  She leaned forward and whispered. Seleven suddenly banked toward the ground, wings pulled tight against his sides. As trees and hills rapidly approached, Harruq screamed for her to stop while Haern let out a joyous scream. A tug on the reins and out went the wings, and mere feet above the ground they banked and spun. Harruq felt his meager breakfast grumbling in his stomach. He turned to one side and vomited, all while cursing elves and their modes of transport. Never again, he thought, would he grumble about the disorienting effect of a portal.

  Laughing, Aurelia guided them back to the sky, where they could see Sonowin flying northwest. In the distance, they could barely see a yellow-robed arm waving at them.

  “Good to know Tar’s having fun,” Harruq muttered as they flew north.

  Mira watched them go, her hands clasped at her chest. Part of her wanted to go, to be where her magic was most useful. But as her hands traced the dagger scar, she shuddered at the thought of meeting Tessanna again.

  “You’ve shattered your mirror,” she whispered in the cold noon air. “But that won’t be enough for you, will it? Not until I’m gone. Not until you’ve won.”

  She prayed to Celestia, just as Evermoon had taught her. On both knees, she put her face to the sky, her eyes closed, her mouth shut. She let her fears, her sadness and her shame lift to the heavens. She did not expect a reply, but she was given one, and it startled her with its clarity.

  I am not done with this world, she heard Celestia say. If one prison is to break, then so shall the other. Let this world give me a sign. Faith amid disaster. Hope amid ruin. Stay strong, daughter of mine. You are not forgotten.

  Mira opened her eyes, tears filling them.

  “Not forgotten,” she whispered. “But still alone.”

  Exhausted, she wandered back to the fires of the camp, desperately craving warmth.

  4

  Jerico stretched to pass the time. Tessanna had bound his ankles and wrists with rope, and after a few hours of pulling and scraping them against sharp corners in the room, he was certain of their magical enchantment. So he stretched, lying flat and lifting his feet into the air, or switching to his stomach and arching his back while twisting his elbows. He didn’t know if he’d have a chance to escape, but if one presented itself, he was determined to be ready. The last thing he needed were cramps while running for his life.

  The stretching also kept him warm, something that had become an obsession. The castle was freezing, and all he had were the remnants of his armor. They did a poor job holding in heat. He found rolling on the floor helped a bit, as did his stretches. At one point he had pulled the blankets off the nearby bed and curled up inside them, but Tessanna would have none of that. She had ignited the blanket while he was still wrapped inside. His face and hands itched from the burns. Scratching them had also become an obsession, one he fought as best he could.

  All this was a wonderful distraction from thinking about what really frightened him: what Tessanna or Velixar might do whenever they arrived.

  The door opened, and Jerico grunted.

  “Be you woman or dead thing?” he asked, not bothering to look.

  “Woman,” Tessanna said. “And get up. We’re leaving, so I have a task for you.”

  He glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’m in the working mood. What help can I be anyway, unless you have something that needs rolled across? Then I’m all for it.”

  Tessanna snapped her fingers. The bonds slackened, and with a grunt of pleasure Jerico freed his wrists and ankles.

  “That’s a step in the right direction,” he said.

  “You’ll be taking far more than one,” Tessanna said, smirking.

  “Excuse me?”

  She didn’t answer, instead grabbing him by the throat and pulling him out to the courtyard. There he found his task waiting for him: a small wooden carriage. Tessanna stepped inside, then gestured to the thick ropes attached to the front.

  “I made it just for you,” she said.

  “You’re too kind.” Jerico crossed his arms and shook his head. “Sorry, but I’m not pulling you anywhere.”

  “Yes, you are,” Tessanna said. “Unless you want to bleed out your eyes, you’ll do as I say.”

  The paladin prayed to Ashhur, searching for the right answer. No matter what he did, she would torture him. Perhaps it was time to be practical.

  “So be it,” he said. “If this is my burden, then I will bear it, but I will bear it silently.”

  He walked over to the ropes and stooped down. Tessanna frowned.

  “Take off your armor,” she said. “And your shirt.”

  Jerico shrugged. Without a word he cast aside the rest of his armor, followed by the undershirt. He shivered in the cold. At the sight of his muscled chest, Tessanna shivered as well. The paladin grabbed the ropes, wrapped them around his arms, and then waited.
Tessanna stepped inside the carriage, giggling at the thought of herself as some royal princess. She was dressed as one, and she bedded a warlord. Perhaps it wasn’t that much of a stretch.

  A few blankets rested upon the bench in the carriage, which Tessanna wrapped around herself. “Take us outside the city,” she said. “I wish to see my lover.”

  Jerico acknowledged her by tensing his muscles and stepping forward. The carriage creaked a bit, but as he took another step, the wheels ceased their grinding. He took another, his task growing easier as the carriage gained momentum. They rolled down the street, straight for the southern exit. They passed by demon soldiers and the tested, and he felt shame claw at his gut as they stared. He fought it down. He would not feel shame, he told himself. Not from the looks given by fanatics and war demons.

  “This isn’t so bad, is it?” Tessanna asked him. He said nothing. She crinkled her nose as she realized what he was doing.

  “Stop being such a child,” she said. “Your tantrum will accomplish nothing.” Still, he remained quiet. The girl with blackest eyes glanced about, and she saw the whispering among the Karak faithful. They knew what Jerico was, she realized. They stared at him with mindless anger. Tessanna bit her lip, suddenly uncomfortable. She was better than them, she told herself. They hated Jerico because they were told to. She hated him for the hypocrisy he represented, for the hurt his kind had done to her. Hers was not mindless. She looked at the rippling muscles of his back as he pulled her and wondered. What might be if, just perhaps, her hatred really was mindless, and therefore could be cast aside…?

  “What nonsense is this?” a raspy voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

  “Oh, Qurrah,” she said, smiling down at her lover. Jerico had stopped just beyond the southern gate, where Qurrah stood with arms crossed, a frown on his face.

  The half-orc gestured to the carriage. “A unique mode of travel,” he said.

  “I am a pregnant woman,” Tessanna said, pulling her blankets tighter around her. “Did you think I would walk, or risk the bucking of a horse?”